Kamui Shirou Presents
by sakachan
Summary: (Warning: Yaoi hints!) Inspired by all the scary stories I’ve read and heard, and by all the scary-ass Alfred Hitchcock movies and scary story shows my father has forced me to watch. Not so much scary as it is kinda surreal and peculiar. Rated PG for ya


This strange look inside the mind of Saka-chan was inspired by all the scary stories I've read and heard, and by all the scary-ass Alfred Hitchcock movies and scary story shows my father has forced me to watch. Not so much scary as it is kinda surreal and peculiar. Ah well, enjoy!  
  
Before we begin, and because I get a lot of complaints from stupid people who don't read the warnings, I'm putting this here for you all to see, so there's no confusion, okay?  
  
Warnings: OOC, semi-creepy situations (and a wicked Kamui), slight yaoi (for the Subby/Sei-chan shippers ^__^ You're welcome), some cursing.  
  
Pairings: Sorata/Arashi, Subaru/Seishirou. (Are you satisfied now?)  
  
Disclaimers: `X' is not mine (no matter how much I wish those bishies belonged to me! *squeak*) Also, the tales I have included within this story are not mine, but they are within public domain. The situations I have used are MY idea, but the tales themselves are useable by anyone who chooses to search them out. I spent a lot of time looking these stories up and choosing them and writing them out for your entertainment, so please do me the service of not stealing my work. Thank you. (Also, any characters that aren't from `X' that are included in this story are property of the tri-owner company: Me, Myself, and I. Don't steal them, please? Thank you. (Though, I don't see why you'd *want* to steal `em, but can't be too safe.))  
  
Kamui Shirou Presents  
  
Kamui Shirou sits quietly at a dark, cherrywood desk, staring severely into space. He turns his head forward, staring straight at you, the reader. His lovely violet eyes reflect the flames of the white candles burning around the room.  
  
"Good evening," he speaks, in a voice reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock. "Tonight, you are presented with several tales. . ." he paused dramatically, ". . . of horror!" A scary, melodramatic organ chord resounds in the background.  
  
"These stories have been passed down for decades, centuries. . ." Kamui turns his head, shifting the camera frame. "And still they ignite terror within the hearts of those who hear them. I should warn you that these tales are especially frightening, and should not be observed by young children."  
  
Again, the frame changes, the atmosphere taking on a bloody red hue. "Our first story is about a young couple who discover their charitable hosts are not quite what they seem. . ."  
  
A change in lighting causes the small room Kamui resides in to grow dark and eerie, the flickering candles the only source of useful light. "Enjoy. . ." he whispers, then breaks out into maniacal laughter.  
  
* * * * *  
  
~~"In Good Company"~~  
  
Sorata Arisugawa and Arashi Kishuu, newly married five months previous, drove quietly along the roads leading to Osaka, where Sorata's mentor, the Stargazer, resided. The couple had planned on arriving in time for dinner, but had left later than expected and now drove on dark, poorly lit roads.  
  
"Why don't we look for a motel or something to stay overnight at?" Arashi suggested.  
  
"Probably a good idea," Sorata shrugged. "Though, I don't know where we'll find any hotels along this stretch."  
  
About an hour later, Arashi noticed a small house nestled in the woods alongside the lonely road. "There's a place," she said. "Maybe they rent rooms?"  
  
Sorata nodded. "Worth a try."  
  
The couple parked their car a few feet up from the house. They approached the bantam dwelling, which looked barely able to sit on its frame. It was an archaic style Japanese home, evocative of the feudal days of yore. A traditional arched entryway led up to the front door, made up of bamboo.  
  
Sorata knocked on the door, gently, as not to break anything and get sued. As expected, an elderly couple came to the door. They were dressed in antique bed clothing, common for the elderly of the area. They were short, probably averaging five feet, two inches collectively. Their wrinkled faces were kind, their black eyes warm and welcoming.   
  
"Sorry to intrude at such a late hour," Sorata said, "but my wife and I were wondering if you rented out rooms. We've another five hours to drive, and we were hoping to stop for a rest."  
  
"I am sorry," the old woman bowed, "but we do not rent rooms."  
  
"However," the old man continued, "we would be honored if you would stay the night as our guests. We have plenty of room, and we would much enjoy the company."  
  
"Are you sure?" Arashi asked, relieved.  
  
"Of course," the old woman replied. "It is just my husband and I most of the time. Outside visitors are most desirable."  
  
Arashi and Sorata bowed their thanks and stepped into the entryway of the house. They sat down in the living room, sitting in front of the small dining table. The elderly man sat across from Sorata, while his aging wife went into the kitchen to make tea.  
  
"You have a beautiful home," Arashi commented, admiring the gorgeous Japanese wall scrolls and the finely designed bamboo room dividers. Everything had been arranged so perfectly, it was obvious the old couple had spent much care and time on the place.  
  
"Thank you very much," the old man replied with a smile. "I am glad we have finally been able to exhibit it to someone besides the two of us."  
  
The old woman brought in a pot of steaming green tea, and four small tea cups. She went back into the kitchen, and returned with a plate of rice cakes and dumplings. The foursome chatted for a while, about the old couple, about the beauty of their home, and why Arashi and Sorata had been out driving so late.  
  
As the late night hour grew heavier, Arashi and Sorata were brought to their room. The old woman laid out futons for the newlyweds, providing them with proper blankets and even offering night clothing.  
  
"We're good," Sorata said, thanking the old couple for their hospitality. "But you have been too kind to us strangers. Please, let us repay you." He took out his wallet, but the old man's thin hand stopped him.  
  
"We have no need for your money," the old man responded. "You have been no trouble at all. All you should worry is how your dreams will turn out." He bowed and left the room with his wife.  
  
Sorata shrugged. "I guess they really don't want the money."  
  
Arashi and her husband slipped into their respective beds and went to sleep. When they awoke the next morning, the sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. The sweet smell of nature filled their noses, the happy songs of birds filling their ears. The couple got up, quietly, as to not wake up their still sleeping hosts.  
  
"Even if they won't accept it face-to-face, I still feel I should pay them back," Sorata explained as he gently set down an envelope with money upon the dining table in the living room. Upon the envelope, Sorata had written "Thank You."  
  
He and Arashi slipped out the front door, walked to their car, and drove on into the ever increasing sunrise. They decided they would catch breakfast at the next town, about an hour away.  
  
Sorata and Arashi stopped at a small Denny's-like restaurant. The restaurant was, for the most part, empty, sans for a couple of laborers getting their morning's coffee.  
  
"Good morning," the waiter, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, greeted them. "You two on your way someplace?"  
Sorata nodded. "We're going to see an old mentor of mine in Osaka and stay the weekend."  
  
"Ah," the waiter nodded. "Where are you coming from?"  
  
"Tokyo."  
  
"Oh my! You've been driving all night?"  
  
Arashi shook her head. "No, we stayed with an elderly couple about an hour up the highway. Beautiful house too, so antique and quaint."  
  
The waiter's almond shaped eyes doubled in size, and his tanned skin paled sixfold. "I'm sorry, where did you say you stayed?"  
  
"Some old house about an hour back," Sorata replied. "Nice couple, very interesting."  
  
"That's impossible," the waiter said slowly. "The only house all the way out there burned down a few months ago. The old couple who lived there died in the inferno."  
  
"No way!" Sorata exclaimed. "We were just there, not an hour ago. The house wasn't burned down, and the couple *certainly* wasn't dead!"  
  
Arashi and Sorata finished up their breakfast quickly. They figured the waiter had been joking with them, since they were tourists. But something about the way he acted when they told them of where they had stayed intrigued them. They decided to drive back toward the house where the old couple lived. They had left early enough today to arrive in time for lunch at the Stargazer's place.  
  
As they doubled back on their path, Arashi noticed a burnt out shell of a house. The frame of the house was burnt to a crisp, and the only discernable feature of the house was a firm bamboo door, covered in ash.  
  
"I don't believe it. . ." Sorata spoke, shocked.  
  
"Sorata. . ." Arashi called out from her spot in the middle of the destruction. Her voice sounded almost frightened.  
  
Sorata walked over to where his wife stood. She was pointing at a large pile of terribly burnt wood. Sorata bent down to get a closer looked. He picked up a perfectly white envelope, with the words "Thank You" written on it, in Sorata's messy handwriting.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The room in which Kamui sits is now wrapped within a bluish hue, the candles burning at three-fourths of the way down. "Welcome back," he speaks in the same creepy tone used earlier. "Well, Arashi and Sorata certainly had an interesting evening. Who would have ever guessed such nice people would be dead?"  
  
He grins, "Of course, the nicest people I know reside six feet beneath my feet."  
  
Chuckling to himself, Kamui turns, and the frame changing with him. "The man in our next story will see just how precious life is, and the importance of listening to your inner voice. . ." Again, the small Japanese boy breaks out into wicked laughter, as the atmosphere grows darker, and darker. . .  
  
* * * * *  
  
~~"Room For One More. . ."~~  
  
Seiichirou Aoki was sent out of town on business to Chicago, Illinois. Since his childhood friend, Aya Kuromoto, lived just outside the city, he stayed with her and her girlfriend of three years.  
  
At dinner, the three chatted aimlessly about the day's events, and how long it had been since Seiichirou had seen his friend. "Thank you so much for letting me stay with you guys, Aya," he said, smiling at the dark-haired girl.  
  
"No problem," Aya grinned. She glanced over at her girlfriend. "It's just Mara and me most of the time, so your visit is much appreciated."  
  
Mara nodded, her short brown hair brushing against her shoulders. "Yeah, Aya can get boring after a while. It's refreshing to have a new face around here."  
  
Aya stuck her tongue out at the brunette, "Meanie!" Mara smirked.  
  
The trio finished up dinner. Despite the fact Seiichirou had an early morning the next day, he decided to stay up and watch television with his hosts, laughing at the odd, yet amusing, American shows. At about nine o'clock, Seiichirou resolved to go to bed. He bid the girls good night and made his way to his room.  
  
As he slipped into the warm bed, he shut his eyes and sighed happily. However, as the night grew darker, he found himself tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Something was bothering him, he knew, but what that thing was he did not know. He glanced at the digital alarm clock on the bed stand. It was almost midnight. He groaned, turning onto his side and shutting his eyes.  
  
Suddenly, he heard something outside the room's window, something like a car's engine. The vehicle, or whatever it was, pulled into the house's driveway. Seiichirou got up from the bed, wondering who the hell would be arriving at such a late hour. He pushed the blinds open with his fingers, only to find a hearse sitting in the driveway, filled with people.  
  
The assumed driver of the hearse turned his head and looked at the spot where Seiichirou was standing. It was dressed all in black, with a top hat and oddly colored eyes- one golden brown, one clean white--- outlined with dark eyeliner smudged around the edges. The thing grinned, pulling pale, dead-looking lips upward upon his wry face. Seiichirou joked inwardly that the thing looked sort of like an Alice Cooper wannabe. He would have laughed, if he weren't so terrified.  
  
In a sinful, tempting voice, the driver called up to him, "There's room for one more."  
  
Seiichirou remained still. The driver waited for a couple of minutes, his lips still pulled into that creepy grin. Then he left, driving the hearse and its many occupants away from the spot. Seiichirou breathed a sigh of relief, doubly proud that he had not pissed his pants in fright.  
  
In the morning, as Seiichirou ate his breakfast with Aya, he told her about the hearse and the creepy driver.  
  
Aya nodded, her face serious. "You were probably dreaming," she said.  
  
"I guess," Seiichirou replied, rubbing his head. "But it seemed too damn real to be a dream."  
  
Aya shrugged. "Well, you know what my grandmother always said: `Always listen to your dreams, for they may foretell the future.' Maybe you'll cheat death soon?"  
  
Seiichirou shook his head. "I just don't know."  
  
"Anyway, you should get going. It's getting late, and you have to get to that meeting."  
Seiichirou gave Aya a quick kiss on the cheek, then walked out the door to the nearby L Station. As he rode the Chicago subway to his meeting, he went over the night's events in his head.  
  
"It was just a dream," he told himself. "Just a dream."  
  
The meeting Seiichirou attended had been on the hundred-twenty-first floor of just one of Chicago's many skyscraper buildings. For the duration of the meeting, his thoughts of his supposed dream vanished, and he gave it not a second thought.  
  
After the meeting was over, Seiichirou made his way toward the building's elevators. He hoped that he would not have to wait long for an elevator. He was eagerly anticipating meeting Aya for lunch.  
  
When he reached the elevators, he noticed how crowded the current car was. A couple of businessmen from the meeting he had just attended stepped on, further crowding the elevator. Seiichirou debated whether or not to get on. Just then, a deep, wry voice called to him, "There's room for one more!" Seiichirou looked at the man who had spoken, and saw the same Alice Cooper protege he had seen the night before, only this time the thing was dressed in a black trenchcoat and black tie. His eyes were still the creepy gold-white contrast, but without the smudged eye makeup. To be truthful, he was a very handsome man, despite his frightening mien.  
  
"Room for one more," the man said again, his face twisted in a wicked smile.  
  
"Umm. . . Thanks," Seiichirou replied, "but I think I'll wait for the next one."  
  
The thing/man shrugged, and the doors closed. Seiichirou breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the elevator car move swiftly down the elevator shaft. Suddenly, a creak echoed through the metal doors outside the elevator. Screams and shrieks were heard, then a loud crash, and the sound of breaking metal and glass.  
  
"Oh my God!" cried a woman standing behind him.  
  
"What happened?" one of the businessman asked.  
  
"I think the elevator car crashed!" said another businessman.  
  
Seiichirou never made it to his lunch with Aya. He had called to tell her that the elevator had plummeted to the bottom of the shaft. Everyone in the building had been told by the paramedics that arrived that there had been no survivors.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kamui is surrounded by a purplish glow. The candles around him have burned down halfway, their flames still flickering and dancing in some unseen draft.  
  
"Wise go-getter Seiichirou has learned a lesson about listening to dreams," he says, a vicious grin upon his thin lips, his violet eyes glimmering with delight. "He was lucky, as the others were not. . ."  
  
The frame changes, and the room begins glowing green. "But now we hear a tale of a young woman babysitting, and the horrible consequences that are associated with such childcare." He chuckles, "Although, in my opinion, children are the most frightening terrors of all!" He breaks out into mad laughter, as the room darkens.  
  
* * * * *  
  
~~"Babysitting Is Hell"~~  
  
Satsuki Yatouji kept vigilant watch over the two Monou children in her care: eight-year-old Fuuma, and six-year-old Kotori. It was nine o'clock at night, and the trio was watching television. Mr. and Mrs. Monou would not be back until very late, so Satsuki decided to entertain the children with "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno." She knew they were too young to understand most of the jokes being made, but it kept them quiet anyhow.  
  
Just then, the telephone rang.  
  
"It's probably Mr. and Mrs. Monou checking up on the kids," Satsuki told herself as she got up from her seat on the couch and went to fetch the cordless phone. Who else would be calling so late into the evening?  
  
"Hello?" the fourteen-year-old spoke into the phone. Instead of hearing a voice reply, she heard a man hysterically laughing on the other end of the phone, then hanging up.  
  
Satsuki stared at the phone, perturbed.  
  
"Who was that?" Fuuma asked, his brown eyes twinkling.  
  
Satsuki shrugged. "Some crazy person trying to freak us out," she replied. "So, what'd I miss?"  
  
At the end of Jay Leno's monologue, the telephone rang again. Having forgotten about the call half an hour earlier, Satsuki again assumed that Mr. and Mrs. Monou were calling to check on the children.  
  
"Hello?" she answered the phone.  
  
On the other end of the phone, there was a soft voice whispering, "I'll be there soon," followed by mad laughing. Then the man on the other end hung up.  
  
As Satsuki walked back to the couch where Fuuma and Kotori sat, they asked, "Who was it?"  
  
Satsuki shrugged. "The same guy as last time. He probably doesn't know that once is enough."  
  
Thirty minutes passed without notice. Until the telephone rang for the third time that night. Kotori jumped up to get it instead of Satsuki, thinking that it was her mother calling.  
  
"Hi mommy!" she chirped into the phone.  
  
However, rather than hearing her mother's sweet voice, a quiet, masculine voice spoke into the other end of the phone, "One more hour." Then the man laughed and hung up.  
  
Kotori stared at the phone, put it back on its hook, and slowly walked back to the couch.  
  
"What's wrong, Kotori?" Satsuki asked the six-year-old.  
  
Kotori muttered softly, "He said `One more hour.' What did he mean?"  
  
"Don't worry about it," Satsuki assured the young girl. "It's just some jerk trying to scare us."  
  
The small blonde girl hugged herself, shivering. "Still, I'm scared." She jumped onto the couch, snuggling herself between her babysitter and her older brother.  
  
"Everything will be fine, Kotori," Satsuki soothed, patting the young girl's blonde head. "Just watch the show."  
  
Ten-thirty came around, and the phone rang yet again. Satsuki slowly opened her eyes at the sound. "I must have fallen asleep. . ." she mumbled, quietly getting up from the couch, so as to not wake the still sleeping children.   
  
"Hello?" she answered the phone groggily.  
  
"Pretty soon now," the same man who had been tormenting her all night laughed into the phone.  
  
Satsuki was extremely angry at this point. "Who the hell are you? Why are you doing this? Leave us alone!" She screamed into the phone. But the only answer she received was harsh laughter, and a click on the other end of the line.  
  
"Was it that guy again?" Fuuma asked, rubbing his eyes.  
  
"Yeah," Satsuki replied, sounding annoyed. "And I'm going to call the operator to complain. This is getting out of hand."  
  
Satsuki dialed the operator and told the woman about what had been going on for the past hour and a half.  
  
"Miss," the operator started in her deep, nasal tone, "if it happens again, call back immediately and I'll try to trace the call."   
  
"Thank you." Satsuki hung up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief. She smiled down at Fuuma and Kotori. "We're gonna take care of this, guys. You don't have to be scared."  
  
"Good," Kotori grinned. "`Cause I don't like being scared. It's scary."  
  
Satsuki laughed. She and the children walked back over to the couch to watch some more television. Eleven o'clock rolled around, the telephone rang right on cue. Before Satsuki could speak into the phone, the mysterious man spoke slyly, "*Very* soon now," then pealed out into laughter and hung up.  
  
Immediately, Satsuki called the operator. "Where is this person calling from?" she asked the woman.  
  
The operator was silent for a couple of minutes. "Does your home have a second telephone line?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah. . ."  
  
"Because I'm getting a trace from your location," said the woman. Satsuki's eyes widened. The freaky man was calling from the house? But where was he staying, lying in wait? And why had he not made his move sooner? Why was he drawing everything out?  
  
"He must be calling from somewhere inside the house," continued the woman. "You'd better get out of there. I'll call the police."  
  
"Thank you," Satsuki spoke nervously. She turned to Fuuma and Kotori, who looked up at her with small, frightened eyes.  
  
"What's wrong, Satsuki?" Kotori asked shyly, sounding a little nervous.  
  
Satsuki took the children by the hand and began ushering them towards the door. Just then, the door to the master bedroom upstairs flew open. Out stepped a tall man with a thin, healthy build. His blonde hair was kept short and neat, but his brown eyes were trembling with something feral and hungry, like a starved hyena let out of its pen at the zoo. His tan trenchcoat billowed around him from the force of the opened door, showing a clean white business shirt and black tie, with tan slacks and black wingtips.  
  
His rosy lips were twisted into a wicked smile. Satsuki had the terrible feeling that, if she and the children remained in the house any longer, his nice outfit would not look so nice.  
  
"Run!" Satsuki yelled, running to the front door. She quickly unlocked the deadbolt and child safety chain, and surprised herself at not fumbling over the locks. She quietly thought about the irony of such security when there was a crazed lunatic in the upstairs rooms.  
  
The man took off down the stairs, skipping over several steps at a time. Kotori screamed. Fuuma grabbed his little sister's free hand and pulled her along. Satsuki led the children over the front lawn and out into the dark street. She spoke a silent prayer that no cars would run them over in their flight and leave them to the mercy of the crazy man.   
  
Who, unfortunately, followed close behind the fleeing trio. Looking back, Satsuki could see a long knife in his right hand, could see the shiny blade in the pale moonlight.  
  
Suddenly, Kotori fell over and landed in the middle of the dark street. "Help me!" she cried, her voice strained and breathless. Tears streaked down her angelic face, and Satsuki knew they could not continue on.  
  
"Get up, Kotori!" Fuuma yelled, tugging on his little sister's arm. She stumbled to her feet, trying to run away. Satsuki could just make out deep scratches on the girl's left knee.  
  
She groaned inwardly. They could not keep running. It was over.  
  
The man had caught up to them, now walking slowly towards them. His eyes still glimmered with that animal lust, his hand twisted around the knife, his lips twitched in that frightening smile. He raised the knife above his head, laughing the same maniacal laugh she had heard him use over the phone.  
  
"Satsuki!"  
  
Satsuki flew forward, her heart racing. She looked around wildly, disoriented and confused. Blinking her eyes several times, she finally regained her bearings. She was at the Monou house, she was watching over eight-year-old Fuuma and six-year-old Kotori.  
  
"Huh?" she snorted, blinking a few more times. She saw the color television set on in front of her. Jay Leno was interviewing Matt Damon about his upcoming movie. According to the VCR atop the television, it was 9:45.  
  
"Satsuki!" whined Kotori, tugging at the pant leg of the teenager's blue jeans. "Fuuma wants to watch a scary movie, but I told him he couldn't, and he's calling me a crybaby."  
  
"Nuh-uh!" Fuuma shook his head. "I just wanted to watch `Village of the Damned!' It's about these kids who possess psychic powers, and they---"  
  
"No!" Satsuki shook her head. "No scary movies. You're too young."  
  
"Aww, but Satsuki---"  
  
"No scary movies." She shook her head. "Just watch Jay and Matt Damon."  
  
* * * * *  
  
The candles have burned down to a fourth of their original size, and are cast in a sickly green hue. Kamui sits, still smiling wickedly, between the candles at his desk.  
  
"Lucky for Satsuki that terrible occurrence was merely a dream," the Japanese boy chuckles, the green candle flames flickering in his eyes. "She was fortunate. . . this time."  
  
The scene shifts to its first color of blood red. "Our final piece is about a young man separated from the one he loves. Doesn't sound frightening, does it? But anyone who has been in love knows just how frightening such an experience can be. . ."  
  
* * * * *  
  
~~"Hands of Ice"~~  
  
Subaru Sumeragi and Seishirou Sakurazuka had been friends since early childhood. Their parents had been friends back in Japan, and had moved into the same quaint suburban neighborhood of Chicago, Illinois. Not surprisingly, the boys had gotten along famously, growing closer as they became older.  
  
They were the same tender age of eighteen, they were both first generation Japanese Americans, and they both enjoyed watching old episodes of "Monty Python's Flying Circus." Throughout junior high and high school, the pair was inseparable, as if attached at the hip. From this close friendship grew a tight brotherhood, and from that brotherhood blossomed a deep romantic bond.  
  
Sometime during their senior year of high school, this romantic bond unveiled itself, and they began dating. In secret, of course. This was not simply to avoid nasty rumors and alienation from macho, homophobic comrades, though that did play a small part. The secrecy was mainly due to the fact that their respective parents would go into spontaneous aneurysms upon hearing the news of their oldest son's new-found homosexuality. The Sumeragis and the Sakurazukas were from the old country, after all, where morals and social decency actually had some area of reign.  
  
In any case, the boys were extremely careful about showing their affections toward one another. A quick kiss on the lips when mother and father weren't looking. A whisper of sweet nothings upon passing each other in the hall. Holding hands beneath the lunch table, out of sight from curious eyes.  
  
But one day, Subaru's parents found out about this little love affair. Needless to say, they were furious. How could their admirable son take part in such heinous debauchery? Immediately, they withdrew their son from his high school, sending him off to live with his Aunt Mariko and Uncle Shinji in Nebraska. The Sumeragis were convinced that *this* would set their impressionable son's mind straight, pun definitely intended.   
  
The Sumeragis had intended to send their son off late at night, and without Seichirou's knowledge. However, the strength of true love is great, and can jump over any obstacle in its path. Subaru secretly divulged to Seishirou his whereabouts, left in a small note placed delicately on the other's windowsill.  
  
And so Subaru left for Nebraska, and Seishirou was left alone, heartbroken and depressed. Subaru had been his angel, his light. The boy had been his best friend for fifteen years, no secrets lay between them. They had completed each other on some higher spiritual level, and now there was only a thick void where once had been unspeakable happiness.  
  
The first few weeks, Seishirou had attempted to write letters to Subaru, detailing plans on how he would help his love escape the confines of his relatives' home. They would run away to some large city, like New York or Los Angeles, and live out the rest of their lives together, free from the scorn of their families. But when Subaru never replied to his letters. . .  
  
By the end of the first month, Seishirou's health began deteriorating. His weight dropped significantly, and his appetite was nonexistent. He grew tired and weak, often waking and finding it difficult simply to get out of bed to go to school. Eventually, his family checked him into the hospital, where he died a week later. The doctors who had looked over him could not figure out what exactly he had died *from*, but none of them knew the whole story.  
  
Arguably, Seishirou had died simply of a broken heart.  
  
Meanwhile, out in rural Nebraska, Subaru's hopes of escape dwindled. It had been over a month since he had left, and yet no word had come from Seishirou. No mail at all, in fact. And whenever he asked his uncle if he had received any mail, Shinji just stared at him for a moment, almost guiltily, then shook his head.  
  
Even still, Subaru dreamed of the life he and Seishirou would have together, once he was able to escape from his corn-shrouded prison. They would move far away from the judging eyes of their families, living only for each other, basking in the warmth of each other's undying love.  
  
Two months passed since his departure, and he began to doubt whether or not escape was even possible. Even worse, he doubted if Seishirou loved him anymore. After all, long distance relationships never worked. And it had been so long since he had heard from his love. . .  
  
Subaru lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. Or rather, the den that had been shifted into a bedroom upon his arrival. The thin blankets pooled around his waist, leaving his smooth, bare chest exposed to the cool March air. The gentle hum of the overhead fan and the subtle chirping of crickets tried their best to lull the boy to sleep. But Subaru was not sleepy. Normally by this hour he was out like a light. Tonight, on the other hand, his mind was awash with thoughts.  
  
Thoughts mainly of Seishirou. Why hadn't he written, or made an attempt at contacting him? Subaru had tried calling him late at night, when his aunt and uncle had retired to bed, only to find his phone lines dead. And the few letters he had attempted at sending had probably never made it to their final destination. It seemed the Fates were against them.  
  
A click at his window interrupted his thought process. Another click, and Subaru removed himself from the bed. He padded over to the window, stared down into the darkness. All the lights in the house were off, so only the bright luminosity of the full moon shone any illumination on the figure standing on the ground below.  
  
At first, Subaru could not quite make out who it was. A cold sensation ran up his spine, and he suddenly realized the identity of the figure.  
  
"Seishirou!" he gasped, placing his hand over his mouth. He slowly lifted the second story window open, thanking every god he could think of for the well greased hinges. "Seishirou! Oh my god!" he whispered down to his love, who was standing patiently in the moonlight.  
  
"Hello, Subaru," Seishirou smiled. "I've missed you."  
  
Subaru's lips pulled into an overjoyed grin. Hot tears hung in the corners of his emerald eyes, gently spilling onto his tanned cheeks. Without even thinking, he had climbed down the latticework at the side of the house and thrust himself into the open arms of Seishirou Sakurazuka.  
  
"Are you really here?" he whispered desperately into the other's ear, hugging him tightly. Seishirou's skin seemed cooler than normal, but he wrote that off to be in part because of the chilled air around them. His skin also seemed more pallid than he remembered, and those gorgeous golden orbs Seishirou called eyes were set deeper into his skull. He was probably suffering from a cold, or a nasty virus of some sort. Still, it was Seishirou, here, with him, undoubtedly.  
  
"In the flesh," Seishirou replied, bringing their lips together in a long, passionate kiss. After a perpetual moment, he broke and said, "You need to see your father."  
  
"What? Why?! He's the one who separated us!" Subaru cried, pulling back slightly. "He can rot in hell for all I care!"  
  
"He told me to come and get you," Seishirou explained to him. "I think we should go."  
  
Subaru wanted to protest; why on earth should he go back to that fascist he knew as his father? But the serene gleam in Seishirou's golden eyes halted any further remonstrations. With a sigh, he nodded and followed the boy to his car.  
  
His body tingled at the sight of the black DeSoto. This was the car he had gotten rides to and from school in for two years. This was the place where Seishirou first whispered "I love you," where he himself had first said "I love you." He remembered the warm cushions of the backseat, imagined himself nestled between them and Seishirou's warmth. Only a day before had he feared he would never see this car again, would never see his beloved again.  
  
The car rolled easily down the dusty country back road that led out to the highway. It seemed as though they were traveling at an impossibly fast speed, though it was hard to tell because of the rows and rows of corn stalks that constricted the expanse of the highway.  
  
At some point, Subaru's hand reached down to hold Seishirou's. Immediately, Subaru pulled his hand back. Seishirou's hand was as cold as ice! He looked into Seishirou's serious, calm, golden eyes, wondered if something was the matter.  
  
"Are you feeling all right?" he asked finally, shifting in his seat.  
  
"I'm okay," Seishirou nodded. "My head just hurts like a mother."  
  
Subaru chuckled, rubbed his love's frigid hand. Seishirou entwined his fingers with Subaru's, suddenly making his hand feel warmer.  
  
"Oh! I almost forgot!" Subaru untangled his hand from Seishirou's and used it to untie something from his other wrist. He held up a hemp bracelet embedded with black and blue beads, Seishirou's favorite colors. "I made this for you."  
  
Seishirou smiled, lightly examined the bracelet on a straight stretch of highway. "Thank you," he said, wishing he could lean over and give the boy a warm embrace and kiss him over and over again. But there was still another hour of highway to go before they would reach Chicago.  
  
Without having to ask, Subaru took the bracelet back from Seishirou and tied it around his free wrist. Out of the corner of his eye, Seishirou admired the fine craftsmanship of the piece; Subaru had obviously spent much time perfecting the gift. It was absolutely perfect.  
  
The DeSoto pulled up in front of the Sumeragi home. "Aren't you coming in?" Subaru asked as he slipped out of the car door, noticing Seishirou was not killing the ignition.  
  
Seishirou shook his head. "No, I'll wait out here for you."  
  
"All right." Subaru leaned into the open driver's side window and kissed the other boy long and gently, faintly teasing the other's lips with the tip of his tongue. "I'll be right back."  
  
He moved away from the car and ran up to his front door. Glancing at his wristwatch, he noticed it was after three in the morning. He wondered if his father had an emergency, which would explain the late call. With a shrug, he rang his house's doorbell.  
  
The house remained still. Subaru could feel mild aggravation, but pressed the bell again. This time, the light in his parents' bedroom flickered on. He could hear the heavy footfalls of his father, could hear the loud murmuring and Japanese curses.  
  
As his father looked through the peephole, he let out a surprised gasp. He opened the door wide, finding his son standing idly on the welcome mat. "Subaru!" he managed to spit out, his normally thin eyes wide enough to take up half his face.  
  
"Hey, dad," Subaru greeted him in Japanese. "Sorry to call so late. You should've sent for me earlier."  
  
"What?" His father's voice was confused.  
  
"Didn't you send for me this evening?"  
  
"No," he father replied suspiciously. "Why would I have sent for you?"  
  
"I don't know. Seishirou told me. . ." Subaru turned his body to wave Seishirou up onto the front porch, but found the car was no longer in front of the house. He had not even heard the DeSoto pull away. "But I. . . but he. . ."  
  
"Who brought you here, Subaru?" his father asked in a frightened tone.  
  
"Seishirou," Subaru replied, somewhat mystified.  
  
Suddenly, his father let out an agonized wail. In that one quick moment, the event of Seishirou Sakurazuka's death was revealed, every known detail exhumed. Subaru refused to believe it. Not an hour before, he and Seishirou had been riding in the DeSoto coming up from Nebraska. He couldn't have been dead.  
  
Subaru and his father walked over to the Sakurazuka household, where Mr. and Mrs. Sakurazuka confirmed his father's story. Again, he refused to believe the tale. He had *seen* Seishirou! He had spoken to him, kissed him, touched him. There was no conceivable way that he could be deceased.  
  
Normally in religious tradition, it would have been a great taboo to remove the body from its eternal resting place. However, for such a peculiar case, the priest made an exception, making sure to bless everything as many times as was sanctioned, just to be safe.  
  
Subaru was, in a way, grateful that he had not attended his beloved's funeral. Chances were likely that he would have thrown himself upon the coffin, sobbing bitterly and trying to bury himself with the corpse. For once, his father's right-wing thick-headedness had benefited him.  
  
The cover of the coffin was opened, and the smell of slowly decaying flesh and formaldehyde wafted up to his nose. He saw the lovely face of Seishirou Sakurazuka, skin as pallid and eyes as deep-set as it all had been earlier that night. The clothing was the same, the hair. . .  
  
He gasped, almost screamed. There, on Seishirou's right wrist, was the black and blue beaded hemp bracelet the boy had given him that night. And no one could explain quite how it could have gotten there.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The candles have burned out almost completely, their dim light casting frightening shadows across the room. And still Kamui sits, staring at you, the faithful readers, silently congratulating you for finishing the story through.  
  
"Of all of the stories I have shown you tonight, that last one is probably my favorite," he says with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, love is a tricky business, but can remain steadfast even in death.  
  
"That is all for tonight's events," he says with a malicious smirk. "I hope you have enjoyed yourselves, and I hope you have not been too frightened." He chuckles, a low and cruel sound.  
  
"Kamui Shirou!"  
  
Kamui quickly turns his head. "Huh?" His violet eyes widen, and he curses loudly, "Shit!"  
  
A mass of angry people enter into the room, surrounding the desk and trapping Kamui. All of the Harbingers and all of the Seals glare at him, quietly cursing him.  
  
"How dare you insist that I am married to Sorata?" Arashi asks sternly, her hands firmly planted on her hips.  
  
"What's with the creepy old folks taking us in? Like I'd ever go up to a stranger's house and ask to sleep there!" Sorata laughs, hardly noticing Arashi's discomfort in the story overall.  
  
"How come I was in charge of watching the Monou brats?!" Satsuki argues indignantly.  
  
"Why did you make me all cute and nice?" Fuuma asks, a wicked grin planted on his lips. "I thought you liked it rough, Kamui. . ."  
  
Kamui blushes, but is still bombarded with complaints. "Why do you make me out to be a necrophiliac?" Subaru pouts, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"Because he knows you still harbor feelings for me, even after my death," replies a utterly calm Seishirou. He winks at Subaru with his dead eye.  
  
"In your dreams, Seishirou!"  
  
"How did you ever guess?"  
  
"Look, guys," Kamui tries to intervene, "you can complain all you want to me, but I'm not the one who wrote the story. Blame Saku---"  
  
"Why aren't I in the story at all?!!" Yuzuriha cries, her eyes spilling over with small, crystalline tears. "And after I gave you some of my Pocky!"  
  
"Look, I'd love to answer your questions, but I'm just a narrator, a host if you will," Kamui pleads desperately. "Blame Sakura for any problems you have!"   
  
Oh, but poor Kamui, no one listens to his pleas. They continue to berate him, scream and yell at him, curse in his general direction. As for the author? She breaks out into maniacal laughter as she stares into her computer screen, watching the ensuing chaos with sadistic glee. Mwahahahahahahah.  
  
Owari  
  
I hope you enjoyed the show. Thanks to my beta, who has inspired the sequel to this story/collection/what-have-you, and who continually makes me laugh with her comments written in the margins. Suki yo, koi-koi! ^__^  
  
[1] "In Good Company" is adapted from an old story common around the area of Albany, New York, about a couple coming upon a house late in the evening and staying there overnight, then finding out later that the house they stayed in burned down.  
  
[2] "Room For One More" is adapted from a story that has circulated around the United States and Great Britain for years. The idea here comes from a story by Alvin Schwartz, called "Room For One More." (I'd have liked to have used a different title, but the one Mr. Schwartz used works so well!)  
  
[3] "Babysitting Is Hell" is adapted from countless stories I've heard where a girl is babysitting her younger siblings, when the phone rings and it turns out the guy on the phone is in the house.   
  
[4] "Hands of Ice" was inspired by a story a story I read when I was much younger. It's been told in both the United States and in England, and is based off of an old English ballad, "The Suffolk Miracle." 


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